the weight of hope
10/29/2025
I held the seed of desire under my tongue & let
Sugar Apple - from Yves Olade's 2020 Collection "Slaughterhouse"
the wild birds hawk the sky. I dreamt of being
wanted; some object of desire — something
heady & sweet & worthy to be held down. I
approximated honey, held its body in my mouth,
contorted myself into nectar as close as I could
manage. O how I was always the kind of bitter
you had to hold tight between your teeth. With
your tongue curled back. In my throat I
tasted terror. I haunted the earth. I forced
myself part of the dance between longing &
violence. between solitude & ruin. How I was
always something you had to swallow whole.
Nothing good. Nothing filling. Rotten as
kindness from the inside out, a decay so gentle
& softening out. How every touch collapsed
me & any look destroyed me. How I knew
what I was and nursed it large. The seed in my
mouth bearing sour fruit. What was I to do?
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today feels a bit lighter. probably because i dropped the weight of hope. hope can be so heavy.
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